Death Fever
by EatTheDamnRude
Summary: Is it safe to say the people of London have finally found someone weirder than Sherlock? But maybe she doesn't count considering she's not of this world; it's time to start believing in the side of the angels. Can the Angel of Baker Street make Sherlock realise what side he's actually on? Sherlock/OC Rated T


**Hello everyone and welcome to my very first fanfiction, I really hope you enjoy my whole plot bunny of having an angel join Baker Street, for I've always loved to play around with it.  
I'd really appreciate all your reviews though, as both praise and criticism is loved (:**

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, the original idea comes from the magnificent Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the Sherlock series is owned by Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the BBC the only thing I own is Cobalt.

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**Chapter 1 – **The Awakening

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Being Inhuman is a funny, yet curious thing indeed. For so long I've looked down at humans and thought them as puny; a waste of my time even, but after the fall I reconsidered and thought them as great allies. To be honest I envied them, I wanted to be one of them. The people who made me see that gracious and glowing light inside them were definitely the strange sociopath; the steadfast soldier and their companions.

However that was then and this is now, a situation occurred and we all separated, the soldier and friends mourning over great losses, and him and I will be surviving alone, aiding each other with the burden of what we have done, but it was necessary.

I stood leaning heavily against the brick wall for support, my breathing heavy and my fragile body reeking with the foul stench of my own blood.  
I paused slightly and doubled over trying to catch my breath for my long journey ahead through the streets of London. I needed to find him, he couldn't be alone dealing with this; plus, I did end up in the same predicament due to feelings that were out of my control.

I needed to find my bond.

"You don't look so good,"

I whipped my head around too quickly for my liking; I was greeted with a monster of a headache, much so that my vision even danced at its mercy. In my gaze stood a singular figure; I instantly depicted that he was belonging to the category of middle aged male, alcoholic none the less, who else would be out at this time of night apart from dangerous beings like myself?  
I supplied him with a searching look before answering his remark, which was a brilliant deduction from someone of his mental intellect, especially with his system full of liquor.

"It would seem so," I half wheezed, not the tone of voice I was intentionally going for.

"What happened to you? You look like you've been smashed against a pavement," He giggled.

Oh if he only knew how ironic right now that sounded. I simply snorted, "I've merely gotten into a fight is all. Nothing to be over concerned about,"

He nodded once and stumbled slightly losing his balance; I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at this, it seems my liquor assumption was correct.  
I was getting good at what he taught me.

"S'nothing to be concerned about?" He slurred, "I don't think so darlin' you can barely stand!"

I wheezed again and closed my eyes, leaning further against the rough wall for reassurance; I let out a long sigh and tuned my ears into the night bustle of the city of London.

He was really beginning to get on my nerves; normally I didn't lose control like this and let things slip, however he was an exception; simply because a- he was drunk and b- he's stupid enough to forget anyway. I growled in irritancy,  
"Look, I'm fine. But considering you're so prying I'll let you in on this. I'm bloody because in fact I _did _get smashed against a pavement; I'm supposed to be dead but yet here I am; just in case you're wondering how I survived I'm not human and I could kill you in seconds. Now tell me, where's Sherlock Holmes?"

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Falling

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Falling  
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Certain dreams have been plaguing me for a while now but only recently have they become more vivid and real. At first all I could make out were shadows, then it progressed into blurred images; then it sparked into life and I could see everything, then it added in voices.  
The dreams were always the same; involving a woman and a man, it was so quaint but it always gave me a forlorn feeling inside my stomach like a black hole sucking my insides dry; just like something was telling me that I should be familiar with this, but unfortunately for me I hadn't the foggiest idea about the matter.

I was having one of those dreams now, why, I have no clue. It seems I didn't know much about anything! All I knew was that I was enclosed in a strange but warm sensation- I think I was asleep but the way my body felt like lead told me otherwise- so I just simply lay there and watched the dream play over again and again.

I think I may have been starting to zone out; becoming lost in one of my ever-so-frequent zombie like trances. The dream had slackened and dimmed out, becoming part of a backing to the growing pain inside my chest. I was dead, I knew I was, surely pain wasn't this bad when you were alive. I being dead was the only probable theory.  
It was like a battle of fire and ice inside my stomach, the fire raging around and thrashing through the vital organs my middle contained and burning them to a crisp, and when all became too much the Ice made an appearance; it began to echo a healing chant towards the burns and cover them with its frozen touch, quelling it and covering it with a blanket of ice.  
However the Ice got carried away… The chilled cover continued to spread throughout my veins and over the burns, freezing all of them solid too, so much so that it felt like some of them even snapped in half due to the pressure.  
But the fire managed to tear free from its prison and begin raging all over again. And that was how the cycle continued.

It was agony. But suddenly a voice broke the torturing silence.

"How fresh?"

"Just in. 67, natural causes; used to work here. I knew him, he was nice."

Hm, so there was a British male, I'd say around early thirties conversing with a younger British female. It seemed like I wasn't alone, however the question that stood out most from all the others swarming around my brain was this: Where was I?

I tried to move again, just a little twitch of the fingers, a curl of the toes; anything that could give me the slightest bit of hope I still actually had a body.  
My little finger twitched, ah, that's a result!

Hopes brightened I gave it a rest, I still had a body, it was just that I couldn't move it properly yet. Maybe I was paralysed but I won't jump to ludicrous conclusions right now, instead I just focused solely on the conversation taking place around me.

"Fine. We'll start with the riding crop," The male replied.

Riding Crop? What the?

Suddenly the voices vanished and the next thing I could comprehend was the shrill lashing of the said riding crop whacking against something roughly. It made me want to cringe.  
Finally, yet not too soon enough the whipping stopped, the male seemed satisfied enough with his whipping session, enough so that the female decided to but in and bring the previous conversation alight.  
"So, bad day was it?"

"I need to know what bruises form in the next 20 minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me," The male seemingly sighed, deciding not to even answer her question.

Suddenly, to my surprise, the female's voice became slightly jittery, "Listen, I was wondering. Maybe later, when you're finished..."

"You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before." The male cut in before she finished; what a seemingly observant thing to say.

Even though I had my heavy lids closed I could still hear the faintest hint of a blush over- shadowing her. "I refreshed it a bit,"

"Sorry, you were saying?" He waved off.

"I-I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?"

I thought I heard the man smile as he gave his rather curt response; seeming to miss the slightly obvious flirty hint behind the lines. "Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs. Oh and don't forget to bring my experiment,"

I heard a random door open then close softly again as the man seemingly exited from the area; it was after the talking had finished that I realised how tired I actually was.  
The last thing I heard before I relapsed back into unconsciousness was the young woman's disappointed; muffled "Oh…"

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I woke up again roughly sometime later to spectacular improvements: the dull aching rage in my body had subsided and I found that I could actually move more components of my body besides my pinkie finger. I was overjoyed with the fact so much, that I thought why not try and awake myself, it was the least I deserved… I don't want to be comatose for the rest of eternity.

_Right, up an attem'_

  
With a great sigh I gasped and opened my heavy lids; I faintly felt my lashes fluttering against my smooth cheeks like a baby bird trying to take flight. The first thing that came into focus was a great white ceiling with a basic linear pattern, separating it into little square patches.  
I took another deep gasp of air and propped myself up on my elbows, so my body was at an obtuse angle; I closed my eyes as my head began to spin and calmed myself. Taking it slower I then managed to force myself upwards so that I was now sitting up, legs stretched straight in front of me and my arms propped back for support like a deck chair.

I blinked. Then blinked again as I opened my mouth and spoke for the first time. "Oh god, that was difficult," I paused and scrunched my eyebrows together, my voice sounded so croaky and strained at first but it eventually broke off into a normal smooth texture; I was quite surprised at myself when I first heard it.

_So that is what my voice sounds like… How lavish. _

"I do believe it is, in fact, not April fool's day," A cool, and seemingly monotonous, voice rang out, causing me to snap my gaze towards the speaker's direction. However I couldn't see anyone.

"What are you trying to say?" I questioned tactically, the last thing I needed was me to say something stupid. Yet that voice did sound familiar… It was the male that spoke earlier on before I relapsed.

"Well, if my theories are correct – which they assumedly always are- people do not raise from the dead. Yet here you are, just having woken in a Morgue. Explain yourself,"

"Well, the only things I can say are these: Firstly, I wasn't dead in the first place; secondly you seem like a rather crude and ignorant person and lastly, could you please show yourself, I feel rather stupid talking to nothing," I half growled, resisting the urge to eye roll at the current conundrum.

I had to stop myself from shivering as smooth skin found its way to rest against my ear; by the close proximity of the voice I imagined they were lips. "You weren't talking to nothing, you just didn't observe; as for me being ignorant that's your opinion. However my main concern is the fact that you stated you weren't dead, that is impossible, as excellent medical teams pronounced you without a heartbeat and has been that way for 4 days,"

I slipped off the bench and staggered to a standing position, secretly glad that, that luxurious voice – and lips- were out of range and I could breathe a sigh of relief. Calmly I turned to face the voice that had struck such a vigorous chord inside my head and was shocked at the ending result.  
Dark; shadowy curls that were ruffled atop his head that looked so inviting, if I were a bird I wouldn't hesitate to make his locks my nest. His skin was a deathly shade of snowy pale yet so smooth and silky; a skinny and lanky figure belonging to someone who probably hasn't eaten much and a glorious set of cheekbones that looked like he was a prodigious Greek God that had been chiselled out of stone. It was the personification of perfection.  
It was his eyes, they were the most miraculous thing about him, a blazing; intensity of blues and sea greens tinted together with a grey hue swirling around like a deep; calculating vortex.

I narrowed my own set of eyes in disproval. What a shame that all this _striking;_ seductive package had a repulsive; bogus personality to go with it. What a waste. "Who are you?"

I thought I saw his plush baby pink lips quirk upwards in the left corner in a smile, but as soon as it was there – if it was there- it was gone. "Sherlock Holmes, and you are?"

_Sherlock Holmes? What a name._

I nodded once and let my eyes roam around the room, looking at anything but him, he was too distracting, in a good way. I thought for a moment so I could gather my thoughts.  
Right, my name. I'm female… Aged 29, or last time I checked my body clock. British origin, born and bred in Northern Ireland but I must have moved over to London judging by the smell. URGH everything's so fuzzy.

"Oh please don't tell me you don't know your own name, how dull."  
I snapped out of my reverie realising I had been so caught up in my own thoughts it looked like I had memory loss. That was slightly the case, but however my people do not have proper names, and that was the problem.

I panicked, scavenging around the room I was in acquiring details that would help my case. It looked like I was in some sort of science lab full of experiments and tests. "Er, Cobalt." I finally managed.

Sherlock's brow rose towards his hairline with a small pout for a mouth, he obviously wasn't convinced. He blinked twice. "Cobalt," He tested the word; instead of accepting it like any normal gentleman, he leant in further, so that are faces were a mere 4 inches apart and pressed further. "Why don't we just drop the act and explain to me what you really are?"

I paled slightly and gulped. "You know?" I whispered; I noticed a little quiver work its way into my voice as I gazed into his morning sea glazed eyes.

What he did next surprised me, his lips quirked into a simple albeit smug smile and he leant away again; his eyes twinkled. "Nope, I had a hunch and now you've just proved it by your reaction; now tell me, if you're not human, what are you?" He quizzed.

I sighed and admitted defeat, damn this man was genius! Sitting back down on what I noticed was an examination table I nodded towards a nearby chair, "You'd better take a seat then Mr Holmes, it's slightly complicated and not very believable, yet however how fake it may sound, I assure you it is pure truth."

Sherlock Holmes did as I asked and casually walked towards a spare stool; it was during this short and precise moment I could secretly take in all the marvels his particular body held while his back was turned. He was _very _skinny, borderline unhealthy, yet he seemed as fit as a fiddle. The black suit jacket; trousers and white shirt he wore also made his appearance very charming.  
Again, just a shame his personality was horrendous.

The quick examination was over before it had even really begun, he span around, stool in his pale hands as he dragged it back over towards my table I was sitting on. Sitting down abruptly in front of me, so he could take in every ounce of detail that may pour out of me during my recollection of events, Sherlock sprawled out his long limbs impatiently. "Try me."

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